


Tuesday

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 11:19:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11334660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Mulder has to deal with aftermath of a leaky waterbed and a suspicious Skinner.





	Tuesday

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Tuesday by m. butterfly

Tuesday  
by m. butterfly  
  
Rating: NC-17 for explicit m/m sex, language  
Category: M/Sk  
Spoilers: Monday, Dreamland, SR 819  
Archive: Anywhere--just leave my name on it  
Summary: Mulder has to deal with aftermath of a leaky waterbed and a suspicious Skinner.  
Author's notes: I've been itching to get Mulder and Skinner in that damned waterbed since "Dreamland," so that's what I've done in this senseless sequel to "Monday." Undying gratitude to the amazingly observant Lucy for working her beta-reading magic while on vacation (you're in my will, darling; there are 79 pairs of shoes with your name on them). As always, love to Michael, Susan and Sue for their encouragement. Feedback always appreciated (and cheerfully answered) at .  
Disclaimer: The characters Walter Skinner, Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Alex Krycek et al. belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. This is a work of fiction (no shit, Sherlock!) intended only for private enjoyment.

* * *

Tuesday  
by m. butterfly

Fox Mulder's Apartment  
Alexandria, Virginia  
Tuesday, 7:22 a.m.

"Son of a bitch!"

Fox Mulder was about to step into the shower when he realized what he'd just done. What the hell was he thinking?

Wrapping a towel around his waist, he trudged back to the living room, picked up the phone, and hit speed dial button number two.

She answered mid-way through the first ring.

"Scully."

"Hi, Scully, it's me."

"What's wrong, Mulder?" Her voice held a hint of concern.

"What I just told you about being there in an hour? Forget it. I must have been talking in my sleep. The insurance adjustor's going to be here in less than an hour."

"How long do you think it'll take?"

"Dunno." His eyes were drawn to the newspaper he'd left on the couch, to the face of the woman who'd died at the bank yesterday. Who took a bullet intended for *him*. He felt a dull headache coming on. "Could you please let--AD Skinner know? Tell him I'll be there as soon as possible."

"No problem. Are you sure you're okay, Mulder?"

"Yeah."

//Am I?//

  
Walter Skinner's Office  
FBI Headquarters  
Washington, DC  
11:20 a.m.

Something was frustrating the hell out of Walter Skinner. And damned if he knew what it was.

At least it wasn't the case report that lay open before him. Oh, he couldn't deny that Mulder's reports often read like something ripped from the pages of the National Enquirer. But the Special Agent's account of yesterday's bank robbery was surprisingly rational and understated. They'd had quite the discussion about the whole thing over dinner last night, yet the phrase "deja vu" was nowhere to be found in Mulder's notes.

Skinner exhaled loudly. Long gone was the tsunami of panic that had washed over him when Kim interrupted yesterday's interminable budget meeting to let him know that someone had been killed at Cradock Marine Bank on 8th Street. *Mulder's* bank. Where he'd gone to deposit his paycheque. Where Scully had gone to fetch him. Skinner had bolted from the meeting, running like a madman all the way to the bank. It had been next to impossible to refrain from expressing his relief at finding his agents--his *lover* and friend--unharmed.

Now, a day later, he still couldn't shake the cobwebs of malaise that sullied the corners of his mind.

He closed the case folder and placed it in the out tray for Kim to file. Only then did he notice the small white envelope sitting on his desk. What the hell...?

He sliced it open to find a single sheet of white paper. He recognized the almost-illegible handwriting immediately, and smiled as he read.

"W: I hate going to bed alone. I hate waking up alone even more. See what you've done to me? I hope you're happy. I know I am. If you skip the gym tonight and come straight home, I'll make sure you get a really good workout. M."

A set of lip prints was added as the finishing touch. Surely not *lipstick*...no, too dark. Skinner sniffed at the paper. Blueberries! From a blueberry-filled donut, no doubt. Only Mulder!

Chuckling, he folded the note carefully and locked it away in his briefcase. He knew it was absurdly sentimental to treasure such things, but he simply couldn't bear to destroy any token--however small or insignificant or ridiculous--of Mulder's affection.

In the five months he'd shared his heart and his bed with Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner had experienced more wonder and joy than he ever did in his 17-year marriage.

During this morning's meeting to discuss the botched bank heist, Mulder looked as though he hadn't slept well, and Skinner mentally flogged himself for letting his lover talk him into going back to Crystal City last night. The AD didn't need to ask how things had gone with the insurance adjustor today. All he had to do was arch those urbane eyebrows at Mulder, who responded by rolling *his* eyes and smiling resignedly.

The Assistant Director took another sip of his cooling coffee and looked at the clock, wondering if he could squeeze in a visit to the FBI fitness centre at lunchtime. Maybe that would help him figure out what was bothering him.

Maybe.

  
Walter Skinner's Apartment  
Crystal City, Virginia  
6:50 pm

"So, how bad is it?"

Mulder grabbed the insurance adjustor's report from the kitchen counter and handed it to Skinner, who whistled long and low.

"Ouch!"

"Yeah. Tell me about it." Mulder walked out onto the balcony to check on the steaks. "They're ready," he told Skinner as he turned off the barbecue. He carried the platter of sizzling meat and foil-wrapped potatoes into the dining room while Skinner brought in the salad and a pitcher of iced tea.

"None of it's covered, huh?" Skinner asked as he unwrapped the potatoes and put them on their plates.

"Nope. I wasn't supposed to have a waterbed, so I'm liable for everything. My carpet, my cell phone, all the damage done to what's-his-name's apartment--the whole enchilada." He cut his steak viciously. "You know, Walter, it's amazing how much that thing leaked between the time you left for work and the time I woke up."

"I know. The carpet on my side of the bed was bone dry. So were the sheets."

Mulder talked around a mouthful of meat. "If you'd bothered to kiss me good-bye, you would have realized there was a problem..."

Skinner put down his fork and frowned. "For your information, Fox, I *did* kiss you. You even kissed me back."

"I did?"

"Uh-huh. And the reason I didn't notice the leak was because you'd rolled over to *my* side of the bed. You were probably trying to find a dry spot."

"Oh." He poked at his potato. "I can't believe I don't remember you kissing me..."

"After the night we had? I'm not surprised."

Mulder snorted. "Yeah, it was pretty wild, wasn't it?"

"Wild enough to wreck the fucking bed."

  
Two days earlier

Fox Mulder's Apartment  
Alexandria, Virginia  
Sunday, 2:43 p.m.

Mulder was making his weekend visit to his apartment to pick up his mail. But, this time, he had another mission: to find some receipts he was going to need for his '98 taxes. His frazzled accountant, all too familiar with her client's wanton record-keeping ways, wanted to avoid a repeat of last year's eleventh-hour madness. Mulder couldn't blame her, really.

He was rummaging around in the murky depths of the bedroom closet when he heard it: the subtle but unmistakable sound of someone lurking in the hall.

His heart pounding, he eased his gun from its holster and spun around on his heels.

"Jesus Christ, Walter!" He sat down on the floor with a thud. "You scared the shit out of me! What the hell are you doing here?"

But Skinner remained standing in the doorway, his weapon still drawn, his mouth agape. He surveyed the room with wide, unblinking eyes.

"Is that a--*waterbed*?" he asked, then executed a classic double-take as he noticed his reflection in the mirrored canopy.

But Mulder had his own agenda. He sprang to his feet. "Did you *follow* me here? Answer me, damn it!"

Mulder's rare display of anger startled him. He put away his Glock and stared directly into smouldering hazel eyes. "Yeah, I guess I did."

He glared back. "Why? You don't own me, you know! Just because we live together doesn't mean I have to account to you for every fucking second of my day!"

Some of Skinner's chagrin was fading, and his office persona--the one that dealt with and made mincemeat of unruly subordinates--kicked in. "I know that, Fox. It's just that you made such an obvious effort to keep me from coming with you this time, and I was afraid that you were going to do something..."

"Stupid?"

"Something like that. I thought that maybe you'd found Krycek, and were going to try to take care of him by yourself."

"I promised you I wouldn't."

"Yeah, I know, but you can be pretty irrational where Krycek's concerned." For the first time since he'd known Mulder, Skinner stepped into his *bedroom*. "And way too protective of me."

Mulder opened his mouth to deny everything, then snapped it shut.

Shit! Skinner was right.

The hate the agent harboured for Krycek was legendary. Scully's sister, Mulder's father, and now Skinner--Krycek was going to pay dearly for destroying so many lives. And when he caught up with the bastard, Mulder knew he didn't want Skinner anywhere near Krycek's hand-held death toy.

Mulder wasn't quite ready to apologize, however. "I'm still pissed at you for not trusting me."

Skinner moved toward him. "I'm sorry. Really. I was just worried about you." He glanced around the room again, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. "And now I think I have reason to be. How come you never told me about *this* before?"

Mulder sat down on the bed, bobbing gently. "I was too--embarrassed."

Skinner joined him. "How long have you had it for?"

"It was just here when I got back from Nevada. I thought I was in the wrong apartment."

The older man furrowed his brow. "What do you mean, 'it was just here?'"

Mulder flopped onto his back. "I didn't remember ordering any of this stuff, Walter. At first it made me wonder if those military assholes had fucked with my memory again."

Skinner lay down beside him, long legs dangling off the side of the bed, bumping knees and rubbing shoulders. He picked up Mulder's hand and entwined their fingers. "There were no invoices or records?"

"Nothing. I kept waiting for a charge from Willy's Waterbed World to show up on my VISA statement, but it never did."

"You might have written a cheque, or used cash..."

"Uh-uh. I checked my bank account. There were no major withdrawals, no cheques written."

Skinner cleared his throat. "So, if you didn't do--" He swept his free arm in an all-encompassing arc. "--*this*, who did?"

"Someone whose taste in home decor is even worse than mine, that's for sure. You should have seen the sheets that were on this thing originally!"

Skinner rolled onto his side and draped his arm across Mulder's middle. "How come you never told me?"

"What was I going to say? 'Gee, Walter, guess what? Someone broke into my place and left me a present: a waterbed with mirrors. And whoever it was also cleaned up my bedroom-cum-storage room.'" He squeezed Skinner's hand. "After I moved in with you, I kind of forgot about it."

"I'd have believed you," Skinner said softly into Mulder's hair. "I *always* do. I just wish you'd told me. If you had, we could have avoided what almost happened here."

The rebel in Mulder resented being patronized or chided, and he felt a brief flare of annoyance at Skinner's almost parental tone. He also hated to admit he was wrong. But then the awful truth--that Skinner might not be around next year, next month, even next week to chastise him--came crashing down on Mulder, extinguishing his temper. Forcing back sudden tears, he turned to face Skinner, who swayed gently before him. "I'm sorry, Walter. For--everything."

Skinner's throat tightened. "Forget it, babe." He took the younger man in his arms and kissed him until they both felt better. Much better.

"You know," he said with an upward nod, "I've never fooled around on a waterbed before, let alone under a mirrored--What do you call that roofy thing, anyway? A canopy?"

Mulder's smile was genuinely wicked. "What have you got in mind, boss?"

Skinner tweaked Mulder's nipple through his T-shirt. "How about I go back to the condo and grab some work clothes for us? You find whatever it is you were looking for in here, and find something for dinner. Then we'll give this baby--" He patted the bed suggestively. "--a test drive and get a good night's rest. By the way, I hope you're ready for tomorrow's budget meeting, Agent Mulder."

Mulder groaned. "Why the hell does it have to start so damned early?"

"I had no choice, Fox. I had to accommodate everyone's schedules, and the Deputy Director wants the figures by end of day Wednesday. Besides, *I'm* the one who should be complaining. I've got to be there before oh-six-hundred."

"You know how I hate waking up in the middle of the night."

"God, you're such a baby sometimes! I'll set my watch alarm. You can sleep in 'til 6:15."

"Oh, goody."

*******

4:05 p.m.

Mulder went to the drugstores first, buying lube at one and a Fleet enema at another. His trip to the grocery store was far less intimidating.

As soon as he got home, he put the ready-to-bake lasagna in a slow oven, the beer in the fridge, and rushed into the bathroom to prepare himself for the evening's fireworks.

He didn't think he could wait until after dinner...

And when Skinner finally walked through the door, Mulder knew the older man couldn't wait, either.

"Want a beer, Walter?"

"Uh-uh." He dropped the suitbag onto a chair and looked Mulder over appreciatively. "Nice outfit." He pulled the younger man into a lusty embrace, running his hands down the warm, supple skin of Mulder's back to the towel wrapped loosely around his hips. Skinner kneaded the firm, round ass through the thin terrycloth until the only thing under his fingers was willing flesh.

As they kissed, Skinner could smell the lasagna cooking, could taste toothpaste on Mulder's tongue. "You've been busy..."

"You don't know the half of it." He stepped back and began tugging Skinner down the hall. "Why don't you have a quick shower?"

Skinner was getting harder by the minute. "What're you planning to do to me?"

Mulder rubbed his naked body against the fully-clothed one he now had pinned against the wall. "I want you to watch while I eat you. And suck you. And get fucked by you." He nuzzled Skinner's neck. "Okay?"

"Oh, God, yes."

Mulder released him and pushed him into the bathroom. "Hurry, Walter. I'll be waiting for you. In *the* bed." He made a little wavy motion with his hand before sauntering off to the bedroom.

Skinner showered quickly but thoroughly. As he dried himself, he saw the empty Fleet box in the garbage and chortled. At least Mulder was organized when it came to sex. He probably had Astroglide, too.

Naked, Skinner practically ran to the bedroom, but came to an abrupt halt at the entrance. There was Mulder, lying on his back, watching himself in the mirrors as he lazily stroked his semi-erect penis with one hand, his right nipple with the other. Skinner had never seen him touch himself like that before, and it made his own cock stand up and take notice.

Mulder tore his eyes away from his reflection and met Skinner's eyes. They were on fire. For him. Swallowing, Mulder's gaze wandered slowly down the magnificent body in the doorway, coming to rest at Skinner's erection. For him.

Now hard as steel, Mulder parted his legs and trailed his hand down to his balls, then back up the length of his cock.

Skinner was following the wandering hand closely. When Mulder started swirling his thumb over the darkening glans, Skinner's temporary paralysis and catatonia both vanished.

"Mine," he growled, low and threatening.

Forgetting where he was, he dove onto the bed, nearly sending Mulder to the floor.

"Waterbed, Walter! It's a waterbed!" Mulder reminded him, grabbing hold of a sturdy bicep to help stay on board.

"Shit! Sorry!" Christ, it was like being in a rowboat during a storm.

But the bed soon calmed. The same couldn't be said of its passengers.

It had only been two days since they'd last made love, but it felt like a lifetime ago. Their hands were everywhere as they kissed, sliding and grinding against each other.

Mulder's mouth finally broke free of Skinner's to begin the languid, inevitable journey down his body. Skinner remembered to open his eyes, and watched with complete and utter fascination as the slightly blurred head moved from his throat to his chest, from his abdomen to his groin. When Mulder began licking the bulbous head of his cock, Skinner abandoned the mirrors because he could get a better view just by looking straight down.

Skinner began to whimper, so Mulder backed off and went to work on his balls instead, sucking carefully. As he did, he spread the powerful legs even further apart, preparing his lover for the next assault. With a final sweep of his tongue, Mulder put his hands on Skinner's knees.

"Bend 'em, Walter," he instructed, and shoved a pillow under Skinner's pelvis. "And don't forget to watch."

Skinner pulled his knees up toward his shoulders, hands around his ankles to keep his legs in place. And looked up again.

At first, the sight of himself opened up like an alien flower unsettled him. He was glad he wasn't wearing his glasses. The unfocused view was staggering enough.

But Mulder sensed his discomfort. "You're so beautiful," he breathed as he ran his fingers from the tip of the engorged shaft, over the heavy sac, and along the perineum.

Skinner gasped when the long fingers reached his anus, which he couldn't see too clearly. But Jesus, he sure as hell knew it was there when Mulder began teasing it with his tongue, so lovely and thick and reddish-pink.

Now Skinner wished he had his wirerims. But he could see well enough as Mulder rimmed him thoroughly. His eyes were glued to Mulder's tongue as it circled and penetrated the tight ring of muscle, stimulating nerve endings he never knew existed until just a few months ago. He began to push back toward the darting tongue, spurring Mulder on to new levels of intensity. God, it was too much.

"Fox," Skinner begged, "stop. Please. Gonna come."

Face flushed with effort and desire, Mulder crept his way back up Skinner's well-muscled body and held him until his pulse rate slowed.

"God, that felt so good!"

"Did it look as good as it felt?"

Skinner rolled on top of Mulder and gave him a roguish grin. "Maybe you should find out for yourself."

To Mulder's delight, his lover performed the same oral tricks on him. Yes, watching the top of Skinner's tanned, smooth-skinned head as he was tongue-fucked was a tremendous turn-on. But what nearly pushed him over the edge was the depth of Skinner's probing. He was really pushing his way in there, almost making Mulder scream with pleasure. He was certain the neighbours were painfully aware he was home this weekend.

He put his shaking hands on Skinner's shoulders. "Enough, Walter, enough. I want you in me, and I want you to see it."

He grabbed the lube off the night table before straddling his lover's hips. He squeezed a healthy dose of the cool gel onto Skinner's fingers, then bent to take Walter's erection into his mouth again.

The muscles of Mulder's asshole were relaxed already, thanks to Skinner's talented tongue. When he felt a second finger slip inside him, he released Skinner's cock from his mouth, then slicked it with lube.

"Walter..." Mulder reached down and feathered Skinner's cheek with his fingertips.

"I know." It was barely a whisper. "Me too."

Unfamiliar with the motions of the waterbed, it took a little longer than usual for them to connect. But once Skinner was completely inside, they used the give of the bed to their advantage. Mulder had never felt so perfectly filled in this position before, so deeply infused. Each time Skinner's cock stroked Mulder's prostate, the younger man's inner muscles contracted, and Skinner moaned wildly. He floated on the bed with outstretched arms like some aquatic martyr, pounding his fists and plucking at the sheets in his delirium.

Then it occurred to Mulder that he wasn't putting on much of a show. He placed his hands on Skinner's hips to still them, then let his fingers fly from the bigger man's navel to his chin, tilting it up gently.

"Watch me, Walter. Watch *us*."

Slowly, patiently, experimentally, Mulder rotated on the cock buried deep inside him until he was facing the opposite direction, giving Skinner a sublime overhead view of their coupling. His back to Skinner, he arched it and leaned forward from the waist toward Skinner's knees, putting his hands on either side of them for support.

Skinner could hardly believe his eyes. Staring straight up, he watched as his cock slid in and out of Mulder's widely spread cheeks. Still looking into the mirrors, he sat up on his elbows to help him drive deeper. But he wanted more. He wanted to touch the incredible body that was straddling him. Crunching his abs and curling his lower back, Skinner grabbed hold of Mulder's hip bones, pulling his lover toward him each time he pushed himself into the taut but forgiving opening.

He no longer cared about watching. He needed relief, but not at Mulder's expense. He sat up so that he could massage Mulder's erection, now slippery with sweat and the prelude to his orgasm.

Mulder cried out when Skinner took his cock in hand and began pumping it in concert with the rhythmic thrusting of his hips. The younger man rubbed his aching balls along the firm thighs beneath them, tempted to laugh as the silky hair tickled and teased his swollen flesh.

"Oh, Christ, Walter...I--Oh, god! Oh, Jesus! Oh, GOD!" His savage prayer competed with Skinner's war whoop as they came within seconds of each other, writhing maniacally on the heaving bed.

Skinner eventually removed his wet, sticky hands from Mulder's groin and lay down, stretching the kinks out of his back while balancing Mulder on his lap. He wiped his fingers on the sheet and moulded his palms against Mulder's quivering ass. Quivering *delicious* ass.

"You're quite the acrobat," he wheezed.

Mulder peered over his shoulder. "Yeah, if we ever quit the Bureau, we can run away and join the circus." He wiggled off Skinner's diminishing cock and melted into the arms that were welcoming him. "You can be the Strongman."

"Shit, no strength left after *that* performance."

"Aw, you'll feel better after I feed you," Mulder laughed softly. "So, did you like what you saw?"

"Oh, yeah. But if you're thinking about putting mirrors on the ceiling at the condo, forget it!"

*******

Two days later

Walter Skinner's Apartment  
Crystal City, Virginia  
Tuesday, 10:25 p.m.

"Walter?"

"Hmmm?"

"Thanks."

"My pleasure. It *was* my turn." He plowed his fingers through Mulder's hair, secretly pleased that he was letting it grow out a bit. "I'm glad you're home. I missed you last night. I should have stayed over..."

"There's no way both of us could've slept on the couch. One of us would have had to sleep on the floor. Or in the tub."

"Yeah, I guess..."

"Anyway, thanks for helping me clean up."

"Sure." Skinner's hand wandered from Mulder's head to his shoulders and began working out the knots he discovered. "God, how can you be so tight after what we just did? You're not still upset about the insurance..."

Mulder shuddered pleasantly under Skinner's pampering touch. "No, not really." He didn't like wasting money, but at least he had it to waste. "I--I can't stop thinking about the woman at the bank. Bernard's girlfriend. It was like she *had* to die yesterday to save herself from living the same hell over and over again."

The bank! At last, Skinner knew what had been niggling at him since Monday. "I'm sorry she died, Fox, but I'll always be grateful for what she did for you." He blinked hard to clear the unexpected, unexplained image of a tremendous explosion from his mind. "That reminds me--there's something I think you should--that I'd *like* you to do."

"What's that?"

"I'd, uh, like you to see Personnel tomorrow and sign up for the automatic payroll deposit plan. I know how much you despise the thought of the government having anything to do with your personal finances, but--"

"Think lightning will strike twice, Walter?"

"Not really, but it would make your life a lot easier if you didn't have to keep running to the bank to deposit cheques every two weeks. And, for some crazy reason, it would make me feel a helluva lot better."

"Well, in that case, how can I refuse?"

"Good." Skinner kissed him soundly. "Now go to sleep."

As Mulder drew the blanket and Skinner's arms around him, he thought of something else he should do in the morning: cancel the paper at his apartment.

It hadn't been such a great day, but it *had* ended well. And at least it'd been better than yesterday.

He held high hopes for tomorrow.

Fini  
March 9, 1999


End file.
